


there's nothing like you and I baby

by heyfrenchfreudiana



Series: In This World and the Next [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Mile High Club, Older Woman/Younger Man, One Night Stands, Tumblr Prompt, crossposted on ao3, eventual sugar mama nat, problematic author and her wips, someone take my wips away from me i shouldn't be allowed to do this anymore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 18:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyfrenchfreudiana/pseuds/heyfrenchfreudiana
Summary: “Older? How old do you think I am?” she asked, laughter trailing into a sigh. Steve shook his head because he was not an expert in women by a long shot but even he knew that was a trick question.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked for an alternate ending to this drabble, so blame them for the story feels. 
> 
> As usual, first two chapters are cross-posted and the third chapter is the new stuff.

_He didn’t know her name._

—-

Steve didn’t know her name and he didn’t much care. They’d started flirting in Dallas, when she’d plopped next to him at the airport bar, (to be honest he had only been there for the free WiFi). Whoever she was, she was like a mirage. A breath of fresh air, even with rumpled clothes and a black Samsonite that looked like it had seen better days. She drank vodka like water and had a throaty laugh that she shared when he made some dumb crack about airline bathrooms, and he thought it was the highlight of his day to even have seen her at all.

When he fumbled down the alley of the plane and looked for his seat number, he’d laughed to see her, legs crossed and smiling in seat A to his B.

It was a long fucking flight but they’d gotten through the first part of it by making small chit-chat when she made the move to stand. Steve unbuckled his seat belt and twisted his frame awkwardly so as to let her pass when his hand accidentally grazed her ass.

(”Oh God,” he’d stuttered, red-faced, but she smiled and shrugged before sliding out).

He thought she’d forgotten about it, or at least that the moment had passed when he looked over to see her, eyes closed and leaning against the window, the airline’s red blanket draped over her body. Closing his own eyes, Steve thought about his destination- a trip he was anxious to make, a long overdue visit with his mother.

Steve yelped when he felt a hand brush against his thigh and then move further.  He couldn’t even believe it was happening until he looked over to see her raised eyebrow as she walked fingers over the top button of his jeans.

He didn’t know her name but he would’ve called her anything she wanted. Careful and quick rearranging of blankets and some furtive glances over shoulders and she was suddenly jerking him off while the rest of the darkened plane slept.  Steve bit his lip until it bled and thought frantically about how things were about to get messy fast when she pulled away, leaving him wanting.

“God I hate airplane bathrooms,” she whispered into his ear five minutes later, when he had her pushed against the small door,  the likelihood that they could be caught and arrested enough to make him dizzy. Pulling a condom out of her shirt pocket, she grinned. “We’ve got to work fast.”

It was comical and awkward, lifting her leg around him and praying he wouldn’t lose balance and break something, the dip and sway of the plane doing them no favors. She was hot and tight and still smelled just a little like alcohol and he panted into her throat and momentarily forgot about all of the reasons he hated traveling.

 _N. Romanoff,_ her boarding pass said. He snuck a peek when they’d landed later on, when everyone was anxiously awaiting permission to get up and grab their bags. He meant to ask her for her phone number when they got off the plane but by the time he’d built up the nerve, she’d disappeared.


	2. two

Natasha groaned into her pillow, head throbbing as her phone alarm buzzed and she reviewed the previous night. Vodka. Lots of vodka and probably not enough water…

“Morning,” a voice interrupted her thoughts and she scrambled, falling off the hotel bed in the process with a _thump_. Looking over her shoulder, she saw her companion from the previous night standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

He looked to have just gotten out of the shower, white towel low enough on his hips that she groaned again, and she collapsed back onto the bed.

He’d followed her. Her seatmate on the plane, the nameless one with the boyish smile who she never thought she’d see again. He was supposed to be a delicious memory, the way he fucked her until her teeth rattled something on the plane something she would thing about sweetly when she was bored. But he had chased after her, all the way to her cab and she hadn’t said no.

And so there they were and the possibilities of the drawn-out affair something new and exciting that she would never have known she needed.

“Morning,” she turned toward him, letting the sheet that covered her breasts fall. “I hope you didn’t use all of the hot water.”


	3. three

“Tell me,” she said as she started on the buttons of her blouse. A blouse that looked _rich,_ for lack of a better word _,_ and Steve tried very hard not to let his mind wander to how rich. He sat on the edge of the very messy hotel bed, legs spread out and nothing but a towel covering everything, and watched as she slipped each button through it's hole. It was mesmerizing.

 _She_ was mesmerizing. He had known her hours (hours?) and already knew he was going to have to use every trick he knew and maybe some of Bucky’s to not let her slip through his fingers. He’d known her for hours, had been _intimate_ with her, and he was convinced she was a force of nature. He was convinced he would marry her one day, which was a sorta crazy thought and he’d blame it on alcohol except he was one hundred percent sober.

“Tell me what you are doing in New York?” she asked. It took him a few seconds to make sense of her question because his brain had stopped working, his eyes still focused on her fingers. She had beautiful, perfectly manicured hands that worked fast. He knew how fast, remembering how those fingers undid his belt on the plane or how her hand had clutched his so tight when they’d fucked on the very bed he was sitting on…

“Steve?” she interrupted him, a smirk on her lips that he wanted to kiss and he nodded, returning to the question.

“My mother,” he said quickly. She paused and looked at him, perhaps waiting for the sob story he didn't want to tell. That Ma was very sick. Cancer and it didn't sound good. That this was the trip where he decided if he should move back home or not, because there was no one else and even if they got a nurse, he should…

Steve shook his head and reached out for her, the idea to deflect like hell because he was on borrowed time before things got heavy, on borrowed time with this girl, and he didn't want to lose a moment. She let him pull her close, still studying him like she knew he was holding onto something, and when she rested one of those gorgeous hands on his shoulder, he sighed.

“You don't live here?” she asked. She reached up to comb her fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes because she had this set of bangles on that clinked so sweetly. His hand moved to her ass, already dressed smartly like she was about to go to a business meeting. He didn't doubt it.

“Only during breaks,” he murmured, feeling drunk already on her.  “I'm in LA for school.”

She laughed and he watched her bite her lip, her eyes dark. “School? How old are you?”

Steve wasn't sure how to answer. The truth? She was already out of his league, he figured he might as well go out with a bang. He was tempted to add a year or two if it might buy him time, tempted to throw out something like _how old do you want me to be?_

“Twenty-two,” he answered and she flinched, taking a step back, a curse under her breath. He scoffed and reached out again for her hips because he figured she was a year or two-maybe three- older, it couldn't be that big of a deal.

“And this is where my life becomes cliche,” Natasha said with a quiet moan, her palm covering her face, and Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Natasha,” he said calmly, hands moving down and under her neat skirt to her thighs. She had the softest pantyhose on and he enjoyed how it felt under his fingertips, enjoyed the way she gripped his shoulders with her hands as he explored. “I don't think it's worth freaking out about.  I've dated women who were older than me before…”

Something about what he’d said made her burst out into a crazy peel of laughter, the kind that said that even if he was fine with a few years, she was clearly bothered.

“Older? How old do you think I am?” she asked, laughter trailing into a sigh. Steve shook his head because he was not an expert in women by a long shot but even he knew that was a trick question.

“Natasha, I think you are amazing. Last night was amazing. How long are you here? I can show you around?” He tried to change the subject, hoping she would take the bait.She didn't.

“I'm thirty-two, Steve. I've got ten years on you. Ten years, a cat, a mortgage, and scars older than you. I don't think you want to show me around the city.”

Steve swallowed, his heart dropping because what she was saying loud and clear was that they were over before they even got started. She put her hands on her hips and looked down, that bottom lip between her teeth driving him wild and his thoughts raced around what he could say to convince her that he didn’t care.

“Look, this was… fantastic,” she said softly. “And you can stick around the room after I leave, if you want to, but I have a meeting in an hour and a half and…”

“So what, Natasha,” he interrupted. “You care about how old I am? I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“Marriage?” Her peels of laughter turned nervous. “Steve, oh God…”

“Natasha, I’m just asking for dinner,” he sighed, standing up so that he could look for his clothes. He would have felt rejection had he caught her eyes as they swept over his chest, her cheeks flushing. “I’m in Brooklyn all week, if you change your mind.”

He got as far as picking up his pants off the floor when she knelt next to him and handed him his wallet, her face hopeful.

“Leave me your number. I’ll call you.”

 


End file.
